


let’s fall in love for the night

by dimplesum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Cupids, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Getting Back Together, M/M, Minor Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Multi, Sexual innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimplesum/pseuds/dimplesum
Summary: Your heart falls out of your mouth. It’s bleeding profusely, gushing, gushing, andgushing.The arteries and veins are splayed out, disconnected from your mind, your own common sense, and all you can hear isyour heart speaking to you.You can’t believe yourself. Even after these decades of being apart, he’s the one who moves you and makes you feel this way. Oikawa makes you fall apart in all the right ways in his very own way....The last thing you would have ever expected is to be thrown into a mission with your ex to match a couple. With all this unresolved tension from your breakup, you’re not sure how you’ll survive this match with him, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to match this couple up no matter what because there’s no way you’ll risk being sent to hell.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	let’s fall in love for the night

“You know, I empathize with the door very heavily for suffering all this pain from you as your brother,” Issei muses when you enter the apartment, opening the door with a  _ slam, _ blood boiling and seeing red. “Every day, you decide to beat it up. What has it ever done to you?”

“No, you should empathize with me,” you inform him primly, rapping your fist on his forehead. He mumbles out a curse from your movement, not completely awake yet as he sluggishly slaps your hand away from him. You have a feeling that you  _ might _ have interrupted his nap, and Issei’s somewhat possessive of the free time he uses to nap. “Today, fate has decided to fuck me sideways and over.”

“Interesting position — did you like it?” 

Issei leans away from you, snickering while you grab the pillow he’s sitting on and try to hit him with it for his crude humor. Even after all these years, he never misses the chance to make an indecent joke out of nothing. It’s a hidden talent he has, and you often tell your brother that he should have become a comedian instead of a cupid. He’s too aware of everything and anything; he knows you like the back of his hand, so it’s natural for him to try to get your mind off of things.

_ Too bad for him that you have a one-track mind toward what happened today, absolutely seething over it. _

You slide down the couch with a groan. Issei’s right behind you on the couch, lying down, and judging by his groggy tone, he just woke up from a nap. If you were in any more of a worse mood, you would probably scold your brother for his shirtlessness because he  _ always _ gets sick for sleeping like this (and rightfully so, but you also don’t want to get sick, so it all comes to being a mother hen and bothering him about his bad habits). 

“I’ll take you out for dinner,” Issei says decisively, grabbing his tank top and pulling it over his head. “Didn’t you finish that mission today?”

His question only brings you back to your initial horrible mood. You leave his question unanswered, and from that, he gets the memo that it’s a touchy topic, not one that he should approach just quite yet. It’s one of those things that you appreciate about Issei, his emotional sensitivity when it comes to things like this. 

“You should wear more than just a tank top. It’s cold outside,” you chastise, watching him grab his wallet from the countertop. “Just because you look good in it doesn’t mean that you wear it.”

“Doesn’t that mean all more reason as to why I should wear it?” he ponders, spreading his arms out to gesture to himself with a shit-eating grin.

You take the opportunity to smack his chest with a pillow successfully. “Being self-conceited isn’t a good combination with that.”

Even when you’re in the diner, he’s still complaining about your choice in layers for him, getting him a thick wool sweater that makes sure to hug him snugly. The sweater buries your brother’s figure, turning the sharp edges into soft curves and weathering down his muscles underneath all that gray fiber. It’s the perfect fit for him if you do say so yourself, but Issei gingerly plucks at the material, glaring at you for trapping him in such warmth. He’s a child at heart, picky with a little of everything. Alas, he knows that you’ll drag him through hell and back if he takes it off and risks getting a cold from the Tokyo cold.

(He’s always the one who gets sick first.)

The diner you’re at is right next to the apartment complex you live in with Issei. Though it’s definitely not one of those high-end restaurants with too-small portions, this diner is the epitome of  _ home. _ You don’t know if it’s because you’re sitting right next to the kitchen where the fresh aroma of cooked meals can practically be eaten, but the stress from work rolls away from your shoulders, and you feel yourself relaxing, tension gone from yourself. This restaurant’s owned by Miss Yumie, a doting woman who runs the whole establishment by herself with her grandson Shinsuke. There’s a gray-haired man who looks very familiar with Shinsuke, wearing his hair in an undercut that shows off his angled jawline. One step into the diner, and it’s easy to recognize her because her presence  _ brightens _ the setting instantly once you’re in the same vicinity as her. 

You spoon through your curry, letting the sweetness sit on your tongue briefly with each and every bite. With a flutter of your eyes, you swear that you can taste heaven, the saturation of the flavor soaking into your taste buds perfectly. The curry blends in with the rice so well, and the rice is the perfect texture, fluffy and hot in your mouth. You’re sure that you’re eating a blend of cotton candy and clouds, each spoonful unforgettable. Issei watches you with amusement as he cuts through his Hamburg steak, the meat splitting open with steam spiraling outward from it. 

“Something happened during the match?”

Issei finally broaches the topic, ever the conversationalist. You stop your makeout session with your adored curry, your gaze flitting up to him. He’s not one to beat around the bush, always straight to the point. It’s something that you like about your brother, direct and punctual as usual. 

“No, it got finished, but it’s what happened  _ after _ the match,” you mumble sorely. You know that you should be over the roof, especially after these two years of hard work, that Shimizu and Tanaka have gotten together. Matches are hard work, needing endurance and perseverance for it to happen properly. They’re a slow burn kind of thing, not something that happens over night. “Apparently, this is a top priority match that Iwaizumi assigned me to work on, and he’s decided to partner me up with  _ Oikawa _ of all people.”

“Ah,” he says, dropping the word like a bomb. 

_ Ah,  _ indeed. 

You’ve done so well with avoiding him, especially considering what happened in the past, and it’s better this way — to keep your distance and your heart tucked in your sleeve. It’s almost laughable what you do to avoid the vice grip of hurt grasping your heart. You can’t go into bakeries without remembering how he tears milk bread by the fingers, and you can’t go stargazing without remembering how galaxies seem to be reflected in his eyes.

Top priority matches are fragile for a reason, the kind that takes extra care but has a short timeframe, so they’re essentially a ticking bomb that can’t be played around with. One misstep can cost you your status as a cupid and send you to hell (although the rumors have never been confirmed, you also don’t want to know the little details behind the whole thing of  _ failing). _ Of course, being you, there has never been a case where you failed to complete the match, but with  _ Oikawa _ out of all cupids in the Tokyo area, you wonder how successful you’ll be.

You just don’t want to feel the hurt all over again when you meet him.

“I can’t believe that even after all these years, he still affects me like this,” you say, letting out a harsh laugh. “He must have moved on, but I’m being pathetic about this.”

“Iwaizumi didn’t let you file an appeal?” Issei asks, studying you carefully. “He’s not the type who would take risks like this, you know.”

“Said it was an order from the higher-ups, so no can do,” you curse.

After all, it’s the  _ higher-ups, _ a mix of older cupids, shrouded in mystery. Some have been around since the Edo and Meiji periods, and you aren’t sure how far back some of them go. (You do remember what happened when Hanamaki asked them about their age carelessly — he got promptly bopped on the head for the question, and he still complains that he might have gotten a concussion from it to this day.)

You don’t have to be a seer to know how bad the future’s going to be, especially because it’s your ex of all people. People often talk about how bad it is to date your co-workers —  _ business over pleasure _ — but if they’re immortal and everything in between, you pinpoint that as even more of a reason not to date. 

Issei processes your words, starting to grasp the gravity of the situation. Focusing your gaze on your bowl of white rice, you watch steam unfurl from it in gentle waves, the golden-brown of the curry being your only salvation of the moment.

“Just don’t get hurt,” he says, saying it like a plea.

It’s his compromise of remaining neutral between you and Oikawa.

What comes out of your mouth is, “I won’t.”

You both know it’s a lie, no matter what you say.

.

.

.

The last thing you would have ever expected is to find your ex manning the back of a boba shop. You wonder if it’s too late to cancel your order inwardly as you realize what’s going on. This is the first time you’ve come to this branch, partly because Issei heard the ratings were good (and honestly, who are you to say  _ no _ to your brother?), so here you are, waiting for your order.

The chances of you and Oikawa running into each other before your meticulously scheduled appointment together have exponentially increased now, thanks to this. There’s something about recognizing someone that clutches your chest in this vice grip because  _ suddenly, _ you notice everything about them. You were only supposed to run some boba orders for you and Issei, but coming to this scene, your mind is wiped clean of any coherent thoughts as you take Oikawa in. He’s working, not having noticed your presence, which is most certainly a relief to you. 

For someone who cares a great deal about appearances, it’s hard to see Oikawa as a bobarista because he isn’t the type to work these kinds of jobs. He likes to be unrestrained in his own environment, so a boba tea shop doesn’t necessarily suit him in this scenario. 

Cupids, for the sake of appearances, do have jobs and occupations to attend to. It’s a way to blend into society easily, and every few years, you switch it up to remain under the radar. After all, it would be quite suspicious to have someone stay ever so unaging in their career, which is why you get rotated in groups. You’re currently a student at a local university because matches tend to be targeted at people in their youth, which puts you in the right position to make moves appropriately. One retired cupid, Ukai Ikkei, works as a professor in the university you attend, so it had been easy to apply and get into his department. 

In Oikawa’s case, to choose a job that’s really,  _ really _ quite under the radar is a surprise because you doubt that the owner’s a retired cupid. After dropping ambrosia, retired cupids find high positions that grant them access to an abundance of resources. Those positions allow them to live comfortably with the flow of money. That way, they can continue the cycle of matches on their end with junior cupids while enjoying the rest of their life as a mortal. From what you’re seeing, Oikawa intentionally chose a job away from anyone his senior, away from cupids. It’s not like it’s taboo, but it’s rather uncommon for it to happen.

Come again, a lot has changed over the last few decades since you’ve truly seen him in any situation. Avoidance is your constant companion when it comes to him.   
  


**YOU (09:39):** did you know that he was here?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, waiting for your brother’s reply. 

_ Issei… _ you suck in a harsh breath, pulling your arms close to yourself while anticipating his reply. For someone who cares  _ a lot _ about you not getting hurt, you have a feeling that he’s deriving a lot of amusement from this very situation, watching you panic over meeting Oikawa earlier than usual. You’re the type of person who prefers being warned beforehand. Surprises aren’t something that cupids encounter in their daily life, and you yourself don’t stray from this archetype, wanting the full picture beforehand if anything. 

**BRO… (09:40):** What do you mean?

**YOU (09:40):** you’re so full of shit .

**YOU** **(09:40):** please imagine me virtually smacking you <3

**BRO… (09:41):** You have to be able to smack me first before you can even threaten me like that.

After getting a look from one of the customers for hitting your phone’s keyboard a tad bit too hard with your fingers from his response, you subside from texting him any further, lest you bring yourself unwanted attention.

You’re perfectly aware that you should act more mature about this, less emotional about this partner mission. It’s just  _ work, _ after all, nothing out of ordinary, and it would be so much easier to get your feelings out of the way and get this match over with. And yet, as you wait in the crowd for your order, you suppose that it’s a lot more than that. People swarm around you in their everyday colors, blending into the warm brown tones of the shop. Someone bumps into you, and you don’t mind them, brushing off their apology with bated breath.

“Number sixty-five, I have your order —!” 

_ Your order, _ you distantly realize to yourself, straightening up and pushing your way through the bustling mass of people that have gathered in the shop. Issei’s order is simple, the plain kind that has always suited him — brown sugar milk tea with cheese foam. Your order sits right next to his order in a cardboard carton, ready to be whisked away. You’re about to snatch it away and leave before napkins and straws fall in place into your bag from the bobarista.

“Just in case you need any extra —  _ oh.” _

_ Beat. _

It’s only one precious moment of surprise, lingering in each other’s presence, and in all honesty, there’s not a whole lot that can take Oikawa by surprise in general.

Peering at him from underneath your eyelashes, he hasn’t really changed at all. There’s no glow up from those terrible American 1990’s movies (not that he needed any in the first place), but he wears a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that suit him perfectly. His hair isn’t really combed, something that really hasn’t changed about him. With his boba tea shop uniform and glasses, Oikawa really does look the part of a university student, even if he stands out a little too much for his own good.

“It’s been a while,” he says surreptitiously.

.

.

.   
  


Shortly after your unanticipated meeting, you have your scheduled meeting in your apartment.

You aren’t sure if hitting Oikawa Tooru with your Hermès bag will depreciate its value, but in all honesty, anything’s value would drop within the asshole’s presence. For every second that passes, the urge to strike his pretty face increases because he’s being so much more mature than you anticipated. It makes you feel like even more of a bitch at this moment, at this point in time, because whether you’ll admit it or not, there’s that leftover pain.

You were doing so well up until now, and now this mission’s going to mess up all the progress you’ve made.

_ Okay, _ you did break up — that is a fact, and it might have been a couple of decades ago. It’s supposed to be old news and all, but Oikawa currently looks unaffected by the state of affairs when he arrives at the front door. It’s either that he’s clueless or willfully ignorant, which neither are good in any scenario. Things might have moved smoothly for him after the breakup, but for you, it’s like it all happened yesterday. You’re cursing yourself for being so  _ affected _ by all of this instead of acting professional. 

Of course, there’s that saying of  _ respect your elders _ for the sake of filial piety (which is a bunch of bullshit in your opinion, especially when most of the younger cupids like you are just a century old), but your mind is slowly being changed by the circumstances as they come forth. The higher-ups are out of their minds, choosing to partner you and Oikawa up.

“You’re still living with Mattsun?” Oikawa asks, strolling into the living room after you open the door for him. 

He calls your brother informally, and you have to remind yourself that he and your brother are on good terms, unlike the two of you yourselves. Your heart does a little  _ flip _ when you almost think he’s going to come into the house with shoes on, but at the last minute, he slips his shoes off at the entrance, saving you from any awkward conversations. You know he was stationed in Argentina to help with the fewer number of cupids over there, but he came back recently.

“I thought you would have grown tired of rooming with him,” he observes, his eyes flitting through the room.

“It’s cheaper this way,” you say with a shrug, keeping your part of the dialogue short.

“It looks the same as before.”

_ Before, _ as in before your breakup, and you’re so sure that he’s aware of how you tense up at his words. You want to point out all the little things that have changed in your apartment with Issei.  _ You have changed _ would be your biggest point, that you aren’t lingering in the past, but it would be a lie to say all of that, no matter how much you want to will it. Immortality makes people linger in all aspects of time: past, present, and the future. Issei is the one who made all these changes, and you went with the flow. He has a good eye for color and everything, being the one to shape the apartment.

Strangely, talking to him isn’t as bad as you thought it would, albeit it’s awkward — a  _ you-can-live-with-it _ kind of awkward.

He flashes you a full-lipped smile, his eyes glittering in the morning sunlight. It’s not the smile that you’re used to, the one that he only did for you, reserved  _ solely _ and  _ only _ for you. His smile is watered down now, curved beyond recognition. There are droplets of water woven in his hair, the fresh scent of shampoo washing over you wonderfully. He probably just showered after getting off his shift, all for this mission. Oikawa has always been attentive about these little things, all too caring about appearances in his own way.

You look around for Issei to be the pillow in the midst of this tension. because there’s absolutely  _ no way _ you can last like this with this son of a bitch. He’s nowhere to be found, and you have a feeling it’s because  _ he knows _ that this would happen. Sure enough, when you feel your phone buzz perfectly on time, you already know what’s going on with him.

**BRO… (14:24):** Good luck

**BRO… (14:24):** I’m with Makki, in case you were wondering.

**YOU (14:25):** omg fuck you

**BRO… (14:25):** dw ;) I am getting fucked <3

**YOU (14:25):** SHUT UP TMI I DON’T WANT TO KNOW 

**YOU (14:25):** :( you’re rubbing off makki way too much

Apparently, bribing Issei with boba tea and Belgian waffles (topped by a load of whipped cream and strawberries to satisfy his sweet palate) this morning wasn’t enough to convince him to stick around for this afternoon. You even had to wake up in the middle of the night to make sure that the mix for the waffles was being  _ proofed _ correctly. You have a feeling that Issei played you for the fool you are, using you for his own benefit until this time came around. 

_ Traitor _ — that, you’d say to his face, but come again, your brother is most definitely not the type of person who likes to get in the middle of things, much less fight. Sure, he has his weekly dose of soap operas by watching the latest episode of the drama that everyone talks about on the streets, but that’s different, a source of entertainment that doesn’t affect his life or work. Between you, his sibling, and Oikawa, his best friend, it’s not a place he likes to be in at all. He prefers being on the sidelines, which all makes this situation even worse for you.

“We should get this over with,” you say after a long pause hangs in the air over the two of you. 

The awkward silence endures as you fish out your laptop, and he sits on the couch next to you, a huge space between the two of you. Once upon a time, you would nestle yourself into his lap while briefing yourself on missions, and he would make humorous comments about the files given to you by the system. There’s most definitely none of that here, tension holding you two in an insufferable grip. 

Pulling up the documents of Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio on your computer, you get started, analyzing the target candidates for the match. Their profiles flash at you from their university photo IDs. It’s standard protocol to go through information like this, just to assess what’s going on between them. Cupids have an extensive network, so nothing’s really a secret for the ones involved in a match. It ensures that there aren’t any surprises along the way, making sure that everything goes smoothly. 

One thing catches your eye in particular: Hinata has a flight booked to the Galeão International Airport in a few months. He doesn’t have any big offers like Kageyama does, and it solidifies the urgency of this match. After university, they’ll part their own separate ways without any intervention, losing any opportunity for a relationship of any kind. 

You have no clue how close they are outside of  _ sports _ in general, so it’ll require interaction beyond these documents. There’s only so much that they can tell you, and you’re relieved that you don’t have to stretch too far because you have a class in common with Hinata at your university. To your knowledge, you have an upcoming project, and with your luck, you can snatch him up.

You’re starting to see why this match in particular is classified as a high-priority match as you read through articles. With high-priority matches, it’s a make-it-or-break-it type of situation, requiring care and consideration because more often than not, they have a close relationship with each other. One little mistake, and everything could blow up in flames _. _

You’ve been sitting in this still quietness for a while now, only listening to the sound of your mouses clicking and your breaths synchronizing. Time seems to pass more slowly with Oikawa, and it’s not in a good way, seconds ticking off reluctantly and belatedly. Even if it has only been around an hour since he has been here, the lack of communicating is disorienting, highlighting the idea that you’re really not getting anywhere. To be honest, you don’t mind the silence at all because it means that you can avoid any altercations with your partner, but it’s preventing you from progressing in this match.

Nothing has changed while everything has changed.

“Are you really okay with me being your partner?” you blurt out without grace. You push your laptop off your lap. It’s burning your skin underneath all your clothing, and you want a break from boring your eyes into the screen for so long. Belatedly, you reflect on the bluntness of your question and feel heat flood your face, biting down on your lower lip. “Sorry if that was —”

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, the ends of his lips quirking at your question. He breathes out a sigh. “To be honest, no, I didn’t want to partner up with you for this.”

_ Oh, _ his answer stings, but it’s predictable.  _ That day, _ you really didn’t have any chance to smooth things over for an easier breakup, only severed ends and raw grief. 

With how he words his answer — an echo of your own response to Issei when he asked you about your feelings toward this partnership, it finalizes everything, cements all his feelings about what happened between the two of you.

Before you can respond, he turns to you, lifting an eyebrow, “Iwa has an idea of why the higher-ups put us together, by the way. It’s the reason why I accepted this assignment.”

He says  _ accepted _ like he and you had a choice in the matter. It’s almost laughable.

“Why did you accept it then?” you question, pursing your lips as you search your mind for an answer.

Oikawa never does anything for no reason.

“Think over it in your pretty little head, love,” Oikawa hums in amusement, standing up to collect his things. His watch flashes in warning, the time emboldened as the seconds tick by, and you remember from his text that his shift at the boba tea shop starts again soon. “You know why.”

When he leaves, you wonder how that pet name he used to address you with sounds more like a curse than anything now. Oikawa’s strange talent is to make things sound more beautiful than they are. This isn’t any exception, which means there’s more to his answer than he lets on. Only you, being  _ oh-so-silly _ you, can’t tell for your life.

.

.

.

**OIKAWA TOORU (18:18):** 人(_ _*) i’m going to approach tobio tmrw, okay? he comes to the boba tea shop p often! have fun with shouyou ♡( ◡‿◡ )

.

.

.

When Tooru gets off his shift for the afternoon, he’s used to having to deal with the metro system, flitting in and out of the crowd to avoid getting trampled by other people. His co-workers wave him goodbye, ready to deal with the onslaught of hungry people. He smiles back, relieved. Even if he’s good with people, he doesn’t want to suffer having to go through those crowds’ orders. It’s the price of rush hour, and he doesn’t miss a beat when he scans his metro card at the gate, unzipping his vest to let some air in.

Today has been all quite eventful, Tooru reflects, wryly finding  _ you _ the highlight of his day. It took a while to convince Matsukawa to let you come over to the boba tea shop this morning (“If you do anything to them, I’ll murder your ass, Oikawa”). The sight of you and your ever-so-readable reactions is something to indulge in. He won’t deny that he derived entertainment from your presence when you met his eyes. 

Tooru especially knows that Iwaizumi will shake his head and hit him for being so nostalgic, drinking the past like it’s a drug. Even if the two of you happened decades ago, he can’t help it, not when you’ve been the focal point of his lifetime. For cupids, time passes fast, seconds seeming like nothing when they have centuries to indulge in, matches in love to meddle with. 

You haven’t changed at all.    


He holds onto the subway handles, his knuckles turning pale underneath the hazy train light. The musty air of the train fogs his mind up, warmth swaddling him from the spring cold. There’s the faint sound of his ringtone from his pocket, and when he reaches for his phone, he notices that the caller’s Matsukawa of all people — as in Issei, not you, his younger sibling. A little notification is highlighted faintly, glowing with a  _ location _ in his texts from the cupid. Curiously, he picks it up, cupping it to his ear. Matsukawa’s not the type of person who calls people, especially when he prefers social interaction face-to-face. 

The last thing he would have expected is the  _ panic _ in Matsukawa’s voice because he doesn’t usually lose his cool.

“You anywhere close to the location? That’s the location that the kid just texted me,” Matsukawa spits out, completely out-of-breath. If you were anywhere near Matsukawa, Tooru knows that you would have punted him straight for the stars for calling you “kid” like that, especially when the two of you are nearly the same age. “They’re piss drunk, and I’m finishing up a match with Makki. I can’t make it.”

“Drunk?” Tooru repeats incredulously, easily grasping the situation. He processes Matsukawa’s words, and on one hand, it’s his immediate answer to say  _ yes _ and go to you without a thought, but at the same time, there’s another thought that opposes this action. “You think they want to see me when they’re like that?”

“Forget the breakup, I need them safe, and I really can’t run away from this either,” Matsukawa sighs into the receiver, clearly frustrated by what’s happening. They’re cupids first, humans second (if they even can be counted as humans).  _ “Please, _ Oikawa.”

“Since you so kindly asked,” Tooru sings back, but it’s not because of the niceties. It’s because it’s you. “I’ll get them, don’t worry.”

“You better, or I’ll beat your ass.”

You’ve never really been one to drink your worries at night, which makes Matsukawa’s concern all more valid. Alcohol is a very cheap, sometimes expensive option for anyone’s troubles, but when it comes to emotional troubles, it’s always within budget. Tooru checks his texts once more to confirm your location, somewhere in the middle of Shinjuku of all places. He doesn’t frequent there at all, despite it being the go-to ward of nightlife. 

Cupids are indeed immortal, but they’re still vulnerable to  _ anything _ and  _ everything. _ They’re glorified immortals who are human on the inside, only with a longer lifespan to spend, thanks to ambrosia. They can get hurt and die — completely vulnerable to weapons and everything in between. They can get sick and die — completely vulnerable to diseases and common illnesses. They are susceptible to any human malady, despite the fact that their lifespan is hypothetically immortal. So to say that anything could happen is an understatement. 

Even if there’s the  _ breakup _ widening the barrier between you, Tooru would be a fool to leave you to any possible demise.

While he checks the map to make sure he’s on the right route, the train leans into a curve, skimming the rail with a screech as it readies itself to slow down for the next stop. Inwardly, he urges for it to go faster, Matsukawa’s fear hitting him all at once. Whatever you’re doing in Shinjuku, he hopes that at the very least, you’re okay, that you’re fine.

The rest of the train ride becomes a blur, the Tokyo setting turning into stretched rays of color outside. Streets are sculpted into various rectangles, a dark contrast to the glittering sky. Most of the time, Tooru listens to music with his earbuds plugged in on the way back home to Iwaizumi. This time around, he can’t hear anything but his stammering heartbeat, hoping you haven’t done anything you’ll regret later. He wonders if it’s an aftereffect of meeting you after all these years, making him remember lost memories that’ll never be the same again.

You’re a sight for sore eyes, your eyes flushed and rimmed with red. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead, shining under the late-night luminance of the street light. The bar you’ve chosen is one of many dingy ones of Shinjuku, musty and dark, but he has heard from people all around Tokyo that the worse the bar looks, the better the night is. Tooru can spot you as soon as he comes onto the streets. Most unlike you, you’ve chosen a spot outside in the chilly cold, drinking beer by yourself without a care for the world. He slides into the chair in front of you, wincing at the squeal of the metal against the pavement.

“Tooru —?” you say, surprise draping all over your voice.

His heart squeezes painfully at the way his name falls from your lips so clumsily — like a foreign word that’s unpronounceable. He’s about to respond, but you’re in your own world, unconcerned with reality, a sticky smile peeling off your lips with your eyes watering over glassily. Nothing about you says  _ cupid, _ the kind of celestial being that wanders around human myths with overexaggerated stories. You look so damn vulnerable, all your emotions spilling out of your heart, thanks to the alcohol. He wonders if it’s making you honest or turning you into a nostalgic fuck, but Tooru doesn’t want to know, would rather lie to himself on that note. 

“Fuck, I must be drunk out of my mind if I’m seeing you like this.”

“It’s me,” he tells you, his words falling short on you. Tooru knows you aren’t comprehending a single thing he’s saying by the dull look in your eyes. “You’re not dreaming.”

“You sound like the Tooru in my dreams,” you laugh, your throat clogged up by your thoughts, “but either way, you’re going to be gone when I wake up.”

There are very few times where Tooru is at a loss for words. He loves to talk, enough that Iwaizumi will tell him to  _ shut up _ because he’s being incessant; Hanamaki will quote everything and anything back at him because he says way too much for his own good; and Matsukawa will listen to him and repeat everything he said because it’s  _ Mattsun, _ the one and only. 

This time, as he looks at you, he falters.  _ You dreamt of him? _ Words are slippery against his lips, and his lips can’t close, gaping open like a fish.

“Your brother asked me to help you home,” Tooru says instead of going through his tumultuous thoughts. “Let’s get you home.”

The bartender inside looks vaguely relieved when Tooru pays your bill — holy shit, he has forgotten that you can  _ drink _ like no one else in this world. Tooru’s slightly consoled by the fact that you haven’t made a mess out of his Prada loafers yet. Pocketing his wallet, he makes a note to himself to complain later to Matsukawa about the bill for good measure. He wouldn’t be Oikawa Tooru if he didn’t complain about anything. Knowing you, you’ve probably put the bartender through hell and back, judging by their expression. 

You’re a bit too agreeable when you’re drunk, stepping into the taxi and falling right into his arms. It’s a stereotypical rom-com movie trope, and his throat closes up at the unwanted thought. Tooru knows it’s unrealistic to expect anything out of this; he’d rather not get his hopes up in the first place, seeing that you’ve broken up for a reason. If he had to guess the reason behind why you got drunk, he’d assume that it would have to do something with him. The timing lines up well, and he wonders when the last time you got drunk was. 

“Address?” the taxi driver asks, eyeing him in the rearview mirror. 

There isn’t much warmth at this hour, brusque mannerisms being the norm for escorting drunk passengers around. The taxi driver looks like they’ve lost far too many hours of sleep, not bothering with being polite. Tooru rattles off the Matsukawa address, letting it roll off his tongue from years of practice. Even if it’s not you, he has had experience dragging Matsukawa up whenever he got drunk. During those times, you were predictably never there in the apartment, always away on a mission for a match. 

Your head rests on his lap, a thin layer of saliva leaking from your mouth while you slumber peacefully. Normally, he would be freaking over the fact that  _ you’re _ ruining his attire, not that he has particularly extravagant fashion choices. (The last time he bought clothes was probably a little over a decade ago.) Tooru stills himself when he looks down at you, not being able to find it in himself to do so. He’s careful with his touches, keeping them as limited as possible, but he resists the urge to rest his hand on your back and rub circles into the small of it. Tooru leans into the beat-up cushioning of the taxi, watching the brilliant shop signs flash by as the taxi swerves into the traffic. The taximeter lights up with neon red characters, slowly ticking up. 

By the time the taxi arrives at the base of your apartment complex, your apartment’s still not illuminated with light, meaning that your brother hasn’t arrived home yet. He snaps a photo to ease Matsukawa’s nerves about your safety. In order to get you out of the taxi, he has to shift you onto his back, and you mutter a curse under your breath as he heaves you on, slipping his hands under your thighs. Your skin is like glass against his heat, surprisingly cold for someone drunk on alcohol. Tooru grabs the keys to your apartment — entrusted to him by Matsukawa — and the gates shudder open, parting the way for him.

_ “You want us to stop taking ambrosia and retire? And what about my brother, your sister, our friends? You want us to leave  _ them _ behind?” _

He can still hear your voice from back then, shocked and pained by the idea of leaving your cupid lives behind. Whenever he thinks back to the breakup, Tooru wonders if he would have turned back time just to not break up with you. Both his and your selfishness led to the breakup after all. He lets you down onto the couch, grabbing a throw to keep you warm for the night — at least long enough for Matsukawa to come to help you out. You mumble something incoherent under your sleepy daze, leaving him time to admire you from this distance. Gazing down at you, you’re the epitome of an angel, your features glossed over by moonlight beautifully.

You stir once more, your lips moving ahead of your thoughts and dreams. “I miss you.”

He doesn’t know if you’re quite awake enough to comprehend the weight of your words if you even know it’s  _ him _ you’re talking to. Tooru squats himself in front of your face — at a distance where if he wanted to, he could kiss you. He barely can believe his own hearing, but when he looks at your lopsided smile, a bit of hope spirals within him.

In all honesty, Tooru doesn’t know he misses the idea of love or loving you, and yet, being here stirs something within him. Whether it’s good or bad, he’s still debating.

.

.

.

“You know, getting drunk on the day before class is not the way to go,” Issei informs you, his gaze gilded with mirth. “At the very least, you could have done it on Friday or Saturday.”

He uses the turner to flip the pancake with ease, finally doing the cooking for today. The apron’s wrapped around his frame in a couple of knots, and it makes you internally snicker at the fact that your brother still doesn’t know how to tie bows for his life. Issei would rather avoid tying bows than learn the little technique, something that never fails to make you laugh. Your gaze falls on his movements, noticing the way he’s cooking the pancakes. 

_ Soufflé pancakes, _ the light and fluffy kind that practically disappears into your mouth. He must have gotten the recipe from Hanamaki, a self-proclaimed foodie and self-taught chef. 

You grimace, your skull nearly splitting in half as you survey the living space, prying yourself away from the sofa. Your back aches from not sleeping properly, having been curled on the sofa as you slept last night. The morning light streaming from the windows is not making your hangover any better, causing your eyes to squint.

“I got carried away,” you admit sheepishly.

“Oh, did you?” he teases, but there’s an underlying reproach in his voice.

It’s so rare that he takes on this tone, but it’s partly because you’ve crossed your own rules — ones that you would never normally break. He knows as well as you do that you’re terrible when you’re drunk, which is why you usually avoid it, especially when you’re on a mission. The last time you got drunk was… after the  _ breakup, _ indeed a long time ago, and you don’t want to think about how much you vomited that time.

Issei flips a pancake onto your plate, setting it down to decorate it with toppings. You watch him as he goes, piping whipped cream neatly and folding fruits into the whipped cream. It’s a sight to behold, making your hunger increase because you kind of  _ did _ skip dinner last night. He spares you a glance, raising his eyebrow at you.

“How carried away are we talking about?” he asks, poking you a little more for the fun of it.

“Hush it,” you protest, groggily hitting him. He doesn’t even try to dodge, knowing that your attempts are all weakened from sleep and being hungover. “How did I even get home last night?”

“I asked Oikawa to help you.”

You immediately quiet at his answer, lifting your lips from your steaming cup of tea. The steam fogs up your vision, but it’s enough to give you one moment of clarity from your hangover, narrowly avoiding a case of burnt tongue in the process.

“What?”

“I didn’t expect you to drunk dial me while I was on a mission,” he points out reasonably, “and he’s one of the few I can trust with your life.”

It would explain the way you woke up on the sofa, bundled up in a blanket burrito, one of Oikawa’s little quirks. He has always been diligent about his blanket burritos since you’ve known him, defending his method stubbornly (“It’s warmer this way”). In an odd way, you can sense his warmth through the small knots that you had to pull free from. You glance over at the fallen blanket on the sofa, your mind whirring with your chest clenching.

_ You don’t even remember what happened with him, _ you realize, horrified. The things you could have said and done are many to none, but if anything, you know from experience that whenever you get drunk, you have a talent of letting loose in all the wrong ways. Last time, you woke up in an alleyway and gave Issei a heart attack while you were at it. Your brother, since then, has made sure to keep you away from alcohol to premeditate any premature heart attacks. 

Issei follows your gaze. “You promised me that you wouldn’t get hurt by him, remember?”

“I won’t,” you say, your voice muffled, thanks to stuffing your mouth with soufflé pancakes. 

They’re just as fluffy as Hanamaki’s, and you remind yourself later to thank the man for teaching your hopeless brother (because Issei normally burns something in the kitchen). Your knife parts the pancake perfectly, the golden-brown delicacy giving in and collapsing airily. The whipped cream is absolutely heavenly and divine, slathering the insides of your mouth with a light sweetness that makes your eyes flutter closed. His nose imperceptibly wrinkles at your motions, but he doesn’t berate you anymore, maintaining his serious demeanor. 

“Who do you take me for?” you prod playfully, letting a smile grace your mouth. You know he’s worried about last night because there’s really no reason to drink unless something happened. There’s no way you’re going to tell him your own internal troubles in your own love life as messy as it is right now. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Issei’s growing wariness is in the right, and no matter how much you want to deny it, Oikawa’s presence has affected you in some way in just one simple day. Taking a deep breath, you stare at his contact information on your phone, his default profile picture boring into you. It waters himself down simply as a person you know, erasing the past that you had with him. If you were any more cowardly, you wouldn’t even consider calling him like this, but like Issei pointed out, your drunk state tends to run you into incidents, and Oikawa  _ did _ save you from making any mistake that you would surely regret. 

_ Okay, you got this. _ You’re outside your apartment, standing on the balcony and leaning on the rail with your forearms. Slowly, your hangover clears up in time for this conversation, and you can’t tell whether it’s a blessing or curse in disguise.

He picks up, white noise buzzing on his end, and he doesn’t say anything to greet you, waiting for you to speak. You suppose it’s only fair because you’re the one who initiated contact, so you have to follow up. In comparison to Oikawa, your conversational skills are minimal, usually relying on people as a buffer. Of course, you can pretend all you want in front of humans because it’s  _ fake, _ make-believe. These are some of the rare times where you just want to crawl into yourself and possibly die.

“Issei told me that you helped me out when I was drunk last night,” you drawl into the receiver, cursing the horrid way your voice  _ cracks _ as you talk. “I’m calling to thank you for dealing with my ass.”

He says something incomprehensible to a co-worker, presumably at work. As heat floods your face, a realization hits you in the face. You must be calling at a bad time. You’re about to apologize and fling your phone into the blazing sun’s glory, cursing your bad luck.  _ How self-centered do you have to be to forget that others have other obligations? _ You chew on your lip, debating to end the call there, and you know that Oikawa would let it be and accept it. 

“It’s okay, you were like a teddy bear,” he assures you warmly, his voice just like warm milk and honey. “You fell asleep while I took you home.”

“A teddy bear?”

“Talked a lot” — cue your growing horrification — “drooled a little” —  _ oh, fucking hell, no _ — “slept a lot,” he summarizes for you.

Knowing what Issei told you about the last time you got drunk, you really hope you didn’t spill anything in your mind when Oikawa arrived because it would absolutely ruin you. You can hear the smirk in the man’s voice as he talks to you, not making your trepidation any better.

“Did I say anything… bad?” you inquire cautiously. 

“Not anything in particular that I could think of,” he responds brightly. “Any reason?”

“Nothing, just curious,” you breathe out, relief washing over you.

You would hate it if Oikawa knew your inner desires and regrets.

You’re thankful for the fact that you’ll be seeing Oikawa later this week, giving you ample time to breathe outside himself. For now, your focus is getting to know Hinata Shouyou while Oikawa focuses on getting to know Kageyama Tobio. After all, the two of you can’t do anything without knowing what you’re working with. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s easy to partner up with Hinata for your assignment in the literature class you’re taking. He wears his heart on his sleeve, making it apparent that he knows absolutely no one in your class. You can’t blame him — university classes make it nearly impossible to get to know each other unless you’re in the same major or department. For this class, it’s just a humanities credit that most people need to get over with. 

When you offer to partner up with him, he lights up radiantly, sparkling with hope. The student’s kind of endearing, puppy-like with his eyes and pout, which is a stark contrast to his match counterpart. 

“I’m bad at literature,” Hinata confesses right off the bat as soon as you move your seat over next to his, “so I’m sorry if I suck at everything. Usually, I have Tsukki to piggyback on in class because he’s smart… but not this time.”

You blink at him a couple of times, his honesty appreciated, but he shifts nervously, despite the extroverted nature that you’ve seen from videos of him. For him, you’re a stranger, someone completely new to him, coming out of the blue. As a cupid, you’ve grown oblivious to the concept of being  _ nervous, _ most things having been experienced before, so being confident is a breeze for you.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Granted, you don’t tell Hinata that you’ve read the text you’re discussing in class over a couple hundred times, but that would require a further explanation of your leisure time, something you’re not interested in elaborating on. 

When he agrees to meet up at the boba shop where Oikawa works at, your plan is finally set into motion, the gears of fate turning and churning for your own whims. The whole goal of this is to make them meet outside of practice because so far, their interactions revolve around volleyball, not leaving much room for creative freedom. 

Oikawa’s texts come up mid-week when you’re outlining your presentation with Hinata. Even if you’re technically only playing the role of a student, you prefer to cover all bases, being prepared at any moment in time. To you, it’s not so bad being a student, a period in life to enjoy youth. You stop yourself from taking notes, craning your neck to catch a peek of the texts he has sent you, only to pause when you realize that you’ve gotten more than a hundred notifications this past hour.

**OIKAWA (16:37):** HI

**OIKAWA (16:37):** HULLO

**OIKAWA (16:37):** HELLO

**OIKAWA (16:37):** HIYA

**OIKAWA (16:38):** HEY

**OIKAWA (16:38):** HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIDE

**OIKAWA (16:39):** AT LEAST I CAN SAY I’VE TRIED

**YOU (16:39):** omg

**YOU (16:39):** wtf is wrong with you

**OIKAWA (16:40):** don’t tell me that you haven’t listened to adele (づ￣ 3￣)づ

_ His kaomojis surprisingly match him in the  _ cute _ kind of way. _ A sigh of exasperation falls from your mouth, but you try to suppress a smile at his antics through text, pressing your lips together tightly. As always, it fails as you laugh to yourself, letting your head fall on the table to examine his texts closer. Your cheek is squished against the flat surface of your desk, surrounded by textbooks. It’s nice to see that the drunk incident didn’t affect anything between you.

Through your texts with Oikawa, it’s easier to communicate, but perhaps it’s because you’re stuck in front of a screen, distancing yourselves from each other — and moreover, the past itself. He’s a lot laxer, probably because he can register your texts and respond accordingly without thinking too hard. In person, it takes more skill to navigate around the breakup aspect of your relationship. The two of you might have moved on from it, but the event still haunts you.

**YOU (16:41):** why did you spam me OTL

**YOU (16:41):** i’m here now

**OIKAWA (16:41):** mattsun said that you were “engrossed” in your studies

**OIKAWA (16:41):** so i might as well relieve you ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

**OIKAWA (16:42):** it’s match checkpoint #1 after all~ and why not start it with some boba?

**YOU (16:43):** you’re treating me then, same order as last time

What you don’t expect is for Oikawa to remember your order from last time, greeting you with the drink as he unties his apron from behind. He’s wearing the shop’s merchandise through the face of his baseball cap, the white logo shining brightly on black material. It sits on his fluffy, messy locks of hair, suiting him perfectly. Handing you your drink, you’re delighted to take in that first gush of coldness that chills your lungs, and the pearls are firm but soft against your teeth, neatly breaking into each chew. The two of you slip into the back of the shop outside where no one can see or hear you, which is good for the sake of the mission.

Standing here, you haven’t seen each other in person for quite a few days, due to your busy schedules, and you’re now here because of the match. 

“I didn’t expect to see that you worked here the other day,” you say, breaking the silence.

“Mattsun asked you to come, didn’t he?” There’s a secret smile he’s wearing, a thought that he surely won’t divulge to you. “Bet that was a surprise.”

“Mr. Oikawa Tooru working in retail after all this time,  _ sure,” _ you chime with a laugh, perching your chin on your palm in thought.  _ You weren’t mistaken at all; _ it is getting easier to talk to him. “You were a sight for sore eyes. Glasses, too?”

His eyes crinkle as he pushes the frame up the slope of his nose proudly. 

“It’s trending, so I might as well get into those trends. Doesn’t hurt that they look good on me.”

_ He does look good in them, _ almost like a drama lead. No matter how messy his hair is, they seem silken, shimmering in the dusty light of the afternoon. 

“Hush, or your ego will get bigger,” you berate him lightly.

He laughs in response.

This is exactly what you were afraid of, the idea that you and Oikawa can converse so easily while disregarding the past. It really is too easy to fall into this trap, this  _ illusion _ that everything is okay after your breakup because it isn’t. For all these tears that you have shed for this man, for all these emotions that you have carried for this man, you know that you’ll stuff everything down your throat and keep it all suppressed. However, you have no clue how long you can pretend that nothing happened in the past because you know he’s aware of it as much as you are. 

When it comes time to deal with the match, you make it back into the shop, choosing to sit in the back. It’s surprisingly cooler than the rest of the shop, shaking off the spring warmth, and your hands come to your bare arms. Only wearing a T-shirt, you regret not layering up as you usually do, but today’s quite a sunny day.

“You need a hoodie?” Oikawa asks, noticing your discomfort.

“It’s fine, I can wait until I get home —”

A black hoodie is thrown at your face spontaneously. Your face is smothered with the freshly washed cotton, and you sputter out a curse and some gibberish of surprise, not expecting anything on Oikawa’s part. It takes you a few moments to register the cupid’s laughter at your expression, his beam being the most noticeable feature on his face. You try to maintain your facial expression before you succumb with the ends of your mouth tilting up.

“Thank you,” you tell him, genuineness seeping into your voice. 

Before he can respond, you hear your name being called by a friendly voice — Hinata. Oikawa often addresses the tangerine-haired student by “Shouyou” whenever you go through the outline of the mission, finding the younger student quite cute. (When you suggested that he was  _ attracted _ to Hinata, the cupid merely sent you a blank-faced emoji, but he didn’t deny it either, much to your amusement.) In a way, Hinata Shouyou is someone attractive and memorable, even by any cupid’s standards. If you were to describe, you would say that he resembles a  _ cherub, _ the petite, angelic creature that humans have fictionally conceptualized. He appears at the entrance of the boba tea shop, his hazel eyes glittering. His skin glows, reminiscent of a post-workout. 

“Hey,” Hinata greets you with a grin, showing off his canines. “Sorry for being late, Coach Ukai held us from exiting practice.”

“Ukai?” you repeat, mulling over the name. 

_ It sounds familiar. _ Catching Oikawa’s eyes, you can tell that he recognizes the surname, but it doesn’t click until you realize it’s Ukai’s grandson, one-fourth cupid. Ukai Ikkei had married a mortal after he stopped taking ambrosia a while back, and it’s a choice that he always talks about to you and any other cupid whenever you come around the University of Tokyo. The higher-ups have an unspoken dislike for him, choosing to do something so radical. He chose love over immortality, something that isn’t common at all, and with a human of all beings.

Of course, not taking ambrosia means to lose immortality, to lose the privilege of being a cupid. Cupids who retire choose this path, rather than to maintain immortality, and it’s allowed as an option after a certain number of years of service. For some, it’s because they want to pursue love with a human like Ukai Ikkei, and for others, it’s because they feel content, having fulfilled their needs in life. You’ve seen cupid couples turn mortal together, wanting to devote their lives to each other. It all depends on the desires of the person themselves and the path that they want to take.

“Yeah,” Hinata smiles, not even questioning you repeating his coach’s name like an old friend, “I’m on a scholarship to play volleyball for our university. I have a game next week, so you and your boyfriend should check it out sometime! I’m the  _ ace _ of the team.”

You honestly have no clue what “ace” means, but Oikawa seems to know what he’s talking about, engaging him in a conversation all about the sport. They’re throwing around phrases and terms that you’ve never heard of. 

For the most part, you’re more focused on the fact that he called Oikawa your  _ boyfriend  _ — something untrue and wrong. You can see where Hinata’s coming from, but do you  _ really _ look that close with Oikawa? After all, he only saw Oikawa and you together before he sat down, putting two and two together through one simple glance without knowing any of the details. You don’t know how to deny it while Hinata’s in the middle of conversing. Glancing at your partner and hoping he’ll deny it, he makes no effort to say  _ no _ to the bright-eyed volleyball player, seemingly more interested in the conversation than getting the facts straight.

While Hinata and Oikawa are off in their own world — it  _ really _ seems like your partner fancies the person you’re supposed to be matching, an order number is called from the counter, a pair of drinks being set down. Your eyes flash, meeting the cupid’s eyes as he nods slightly to get your plans running. There’s a reason behind all of this, and you’re eager to get this match rolling. 

“Thought you might be thirsty after your practice,” you inform Hinata when he sends you a questioning look.

You push the fruit tea mixture to him, not really sure which flavor it is. It’s a pretty tangerine color that bobs up and down in the plastic cup against the ice cubes, bits of pulp revolving around the drink. Watching him sip the drink, his eyes sparkle with sudden energy, and you wonder if it was a mistake to put him on a sugar high. Before ordering, you had listened to Oikawa who proclaimed himself to be an expert in all things regarding  _ boba _ itself, but you didn’t expect Hinata to react like this. Oikawa wears a self-satisfied smirk on his face that says  _ I told you so. _

“Oi, Hinata, what are you doing here?”

“Kageyama!” Hinata’s expression changes, his eyes widening and his grin widening — even if that were even possible. It’s impossible not to be happy when you’re in Hinata’s presence, a nice phenomenon that makes your posture less tense. You can see his effect on Oikawa, clearly more relaxed. “You come here often?”

“Yeah, after practice,” the dark-haired man says casually, his personality a  _ complete _ contrast to Hinata’s.

This is who the strange purple drink is for —  _ Kageyama. _ When Oikawa told you to order it, he had a disgusted expression on his face (“Taro milk… is a ridiculous order; whoever orders it has  _ terrible _ taste and is a terrible person”). Apparently, the drink’s fairly popular in the shop, but the bobarista himself takes a high dislike toward it (and anyone who orders it themselves, although he always disputes the latter). You’ve never met Kageyama before until now, only knowing about him through the documents sent to you about the match. Oikawa says that he’s a regular customer at this boba shop, always arriving here without fail after practice. His predictable schedule is what makes this match easier for the two of you. 

“Oh, no, I accidentally ordered too much,” you bemoan, and Oikawa suppresses a snicker at your crappy acting. It’s not like you put much stock into this kind of stuff in the first place, watching comedy shows for reference, so that was a complete disaster in making. Luckily for you, you don’t have any shame, kicking him underneath the table and making him yelp as you continue on, “I wonder if  _ someone _ could help me…”

“That’s my go-to order,” Kageyama offers dutifully, making you smile triumphantly.  _ Success.  _ “I’d be glad to help.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice how Kageyama intentionally takes smaller sips of his drink, even if the ice’s melting minute by minute, wanting to stay with his teammate. You can see how they struggle initially with talking about something else  _ outside _ of volleyball, their world revolving around the sport itself, but they ease into conversing casually. It’s kind of endearing to watch as they go along in their own world.

“Shouldn’t you make Hinata do more work?” Oikawa asks, nudging you softly as you pencil in some remarks. He’s the one assisting you with the work, correcting you when you lack in some areas for literary analysis of the novel. “He seems… very focused on the blueberry.”

The “blueberry” is Kageyama, fitting of him to be called that with his eye color. Oikawa has taken a liking to using codenames whenever you’re in public, which is kind of funny when you think about it out of context. 

“It’s fine,” you wave his concern off. You crack a smile at him, playing with your pencil. “They’re cute to watch.”

“Don’t forget about yourself, you’re doing all this hard work,” he reminds you lowly, his eyes focused on  _ you. _

You swear that your heart beats faster than any being can handle, your palms slick with sweat as the pencil drops to the ground. He picks it up, a smile curving his mouth gently, and hands it to you. Inside, you hope he doesn’t feel how sticky and hot the pencil is.

It’s not the last time that Oikawa stirs your heart in a certain way.

You’re supposed to be watching Kageyama and Hinata in their match against another university, and they’re absolutely brilliant, unparalleled in their play style. Hinata bounds from one end of the court to the other, his athleticism shown in each spring of his step. It’s like Kageyama  _ knows, _ without a doubt, where he is, able to bring him the ball with such confidence. Even after matching so many people in the past, you can’t help but get pulled into this dynamic of watching them, the whole game’s focal point being them.

“You know, if you frown any longer, you’re going to get wrinkles in your face,” Oikawa hums, poking your cheek without any remorse. He’s acting like a petulant kid, which is an accurate description for him in some regard. “I wouldn’t want that cute face of yours to get marred by any wrinkles.”

_ Cute, _ you ignore the stammer in your heartbeat.

“You’re the one to talk,” you shoot back crossly. You bite into the onigiri in your hands, tasting the sharp flavor of the pickled plum in your mouth. You bought some earlier from Miss Yumie because of her grandson’s friend’s introduction of a new type of dish to her restaurant for takeout purposes. Their restaurant has boomed in business, and you’re glad for that. “What would you do if I told you that you’re the cause of my wrinkles?”

“Then, I’d be flattered to be on your mind so often,” Oikawa responds all too easily. 

“I’ll knock you out,” you vow, but he knows it’s an empty threat. You’ve never landed a blow on him, not like how you do with any of the other cupids. “Isn’t volleyball just… soccer but in the air and with hands?”

“It’s not all that,” he counters, dismayed that you think that way.

It’s how you get into a full discussion of how sports work because apparently, Oikawa’s a complete fanatic of all sports, more specifically volleyball. In all the years you’ve known him, this is a new aspect to him that you’ve never known about. You have never had time to truly enthuse about a sport, much less learn about one. Ignoring the commentators’ words, he takes time to point out all the positions for you, such as Kageyama being a setter. It’s easier to follow his words than the commentator. With every rally, he expresses his content and discontent through various expressions, taking this little detour in your mission very seriously.

He takes a bite out of his own onigiri, a flash of light pink disappearing between his lips. It’s tuna mayo, much lighter than yours in terms of flavor. Somehow, watching him is more exciting than watching the game, his cheeks brightening with a light tint of pink as he eats.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks curiously, meeting your eyes, and you feel an electric shock jolt you, realizing your stare has lingered far too long than for what’s appropriate.

You search for something to back you up, just to get you out of this situation. Judging by his question, you have a feeling Oikawa’s finding entertainment in your flustered reaction.

“Ah,” you lament, trying not to sound out of place in your conversation, “there’s some tuna mayo on the corner of your mouth.”

Not giving him a chance to say anything, your fingers frame his face as your thumbs smooth the ends of his lips. You gripe internally at the intimate position you’re putting yourself to cover your ass, but all the same, you carry on. His cheeks are decorated with an unmatched rosiness, betraying how he feels about this situation himself. It’s a rare opportunity to catch Oikawa off guard. Forgetting yourself within the moment, you swipe the corners with one thumb and pull it into your own mouth with a pop of your lips for emphasis.

“The tuna mayo tastes good,” you sing, ignoring the look of pure surprise on Oikawa’s face. 

You humor yourself in his reaction, enjoying how the tables have turned upon him.

(And there’s a part of you that  _ likes _ this, everything that encompasses this particular moment with him.)

The moment gets broken by Hinata shouting at the two of you to come down the bleachers because his team won, but you’re far more concentrated on Oikawa than anything else, blood rushing in your ears.

.

.

.

“You look good tonight,” Issei notes right as your hand circles the doorknob. He’s cooking something again, the table set for two. For all his words about not disclosing his relationship with Hanamaki, you’re finding his romancing of your shared friend painfully amusing. “Going somewhere?”

“The festival,” you say, biting down your smile at his flattery. It’s honestly not much at all. You’ve thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of pants that look better than your everyday hoodie and sweatpants. He can tell how excited you are to go out and get a fresh breath of air. Anticipation runs high in the air as you lean your weight from one foot to the other in thought. “Hinata and I finished our project and got an A, so we’re going out to celebrate.”

“Didn’t he slack off, according to Oikawa?” he recalls. “I’ve never seen you so stressed over  _ school  _ before.”

You laugh at his reminder, hushing him. “Hinata’s a good friend, but he’s a terrible partner.”

“Upgraded to a friend now? I’m proud to hear that you’ve made your first human friend in all the decades I’ve known you.”

If you didn’t care about Hanamaki so much, you’d have kicked your brother to the curb by now. Hinata is a one-of-a-kind person, and you’ve never really made any friends outside the circle of cupids you know, thanks to your immortality and such, but he has made a home in your heart, being endearing and friendly. Most cupids acclimate to human societies and populations easily, making friends left and right for future missions’ use. Up until now, you haven’t entirely gotten there, so for Hinata to make it there is somewhat of a miracle.

He snickers at your reaction, watching the timer for the oven. Issei hasn’t let you look at the dinner he’s cooking, claiming that you’ll make fun of him, but you can smell the savory taste of ribs from the oven, making your stomach growl. 

You make a note to yourself to tell Miss Yumie about her new accomplishments in teaching Issei. She’ll be very pleased about this new and improved Issei, making headway in his cooking progress. You’re quite impressed by your brother because he has never been one to really press forward in his cooking endeavors. Admittedly, love changes people, and the shape of Hanamaki’s presence has been imprinted on Issei.

At the sound of your stomach, he gives you a look, shooing you away from the kitchen.

“Aren’t you on a double date tonight?” he says flatly as he pulls his oven mitts on. “Go stuff your face there.”

Oikawa’s waiting outside your apartment complex at the parking lot. Some music airs from the speakers, and you catch a little of the acoustic background music. He’s still wearing his glasses, humming to the music with a slight shake of his head (“I’m going to hang onto this trend for as long as it lasts”). His mouth parts, lyrics pouring out of it in an off-key manner. You want to take out your phone to snap a photo of him like this for you and Hanamaki to make fun of, but he’ll catch you in a blink of an eye and ruin the photo. You inhale this moment briefly before knocking on the window of his car with a glimpse of a grin. 

He doesn’t even look abashed that you just saw him dancing like that in his car.

“Ready to finish up this match?” Oikawa helps you clasp your seatbelt, his motions quick and steady. You have grown used to him doing this for you, one of the many constants in your life, and you can’t even bring yourself to protest it. “I can’t wait to get those papers signed and get rid of Tobio.”

“What do you have against Kageyama?” you protest. “It better not be his  _ taro milk  _ order of all things.”

“That drink is so incredibly sweet,” he argues. “You would have to be a masochist to like those kinds of things.”

You choke on your laughter promptly, and Oikawa pats your back at the spotlight, fondness clear in his eyes.

For the last month or so, you’ve improved your relationship with Oikawa throughout the duration of this match. The two of you have worked on this match, tugging strings to find moments for Kageyama and Hinata to meet and build connections outside of volleyball. Your work has been a major success, the bits and pieces of the smallest details finally painting the bigger picture.  _ (Although _ you’ll admit that you had to pull an all-nighter for the sake of your project, Oikawa was there to support you, making you coffee in his apartment while you went through your whole project the night before in a full marathon.) 

There’s no longer that tense awkwardness in the air filling each conversation between you, much to your relief. To some degree, you look forward to seeing him, your smiles and laughs lasting longer than they normally do. You’re on pretty good terms for being exes, and it’s surprising how far you’ve come, seeing that you had been pushing back on Iwaizumi for giving you this joint mission. 

It’s the last checkpoint — the point of certainty to ensure that they’re together. You’ve finished up the match well before Hinata’s scheduled flight to Buenos Aires, but you’re sure he’ll figure out something with Kageyama to make their relationship work over this distance. Be it as it may, cupids are only supposed to get people together, hooking them together according to their strings of fate. They can’t control anything else, so it’s not like you’re manipulating their lives; you’re just helping them make connections that they wouldn’t otherwise have if it weren’t for your interference. 

“I’m excited and sad to let them go,” you confide, playing with your phone in your hands. Your legs are curled on the car seat, heels digging in with your sandals on the floor. “They’ve been one of my favorite matches to oversee.”

“Playing favorites?” he jokes, his eyes trained on the road. “I get it, it’s like watching your kids grow up.”

After this, you’ll probably be seeing Hinata and Kageyama less, due to your duties as a cupid.  _ Quietly get your degree and switch into another career  _ — that’s how cupids work. You’re all so versed in what you do, being able to blend in with humans with a myriad of knowledge, and eventually, when times change, you will have to relocate with a new identity of some sort. It’s inevitable, but knowing them, they will be sure to keep in contact with you. 

Not responding to him, you bury your sadness into your heart, reminding yourself to enjoy this day, to remember tonight. You’re a servant to fate, to other people, but never to yourself; this is the first thing taught to you since day one of being a cupid.

He takes his hand off the gear shift briefly — you’re about to protest because he really  _ shouldn’t _ distract himself from driving, even if he’s the only one out of the two of you who really know how to drive — but he clasps your hand in his, squeezing it softly to reassure you.

The good thing is that the cherry blossom festival doesn’t leave you any time to suffer in your own thoughts. Pink blossoms tower over you, lining the sidewalks with their petals falling gently. It’s really a canvas of pink watercolor, trees blending into one another ever so beautifully, the brilliant blue sky melting into the spring landscape. Before you know it, you find the orange-and-blue couple at the foot of one of the streets that you agreed to meet at. 

Hinata waves you over with a couple of shouts and screams, jumping up and down eagerly. Kageyama’s standing by him awkwardly, trying to get him to calm down by tugging on his boyfriend’s hoodie, but he’s honestly no match for the bouncing tangerine, no matter how much he tries. They’re awfully early here, which doesn’t quite match their character because they tend to run on the late side of things. For someone who just got out of a volleyball game from earlier today, Hinata’s pretty energetic, and Oikawa snickers, making you slap him on the arm.

“I saw some cotton candy over there,” Hinata suggests, taking you by the hand and tearing you away from Oikawa’s side. He pushes you into the line, jumping up once more with his hands on your shoulders, and you feel like you’ve grown  _ shorter _ over the few minutes you have been with him so far. “Do you like pink vanilla or blue raspberry?”

“They taste all the same,” Kageyama states bluntly, earning a shocked reaction from Hinata.

He turns to his boyfriend, his mouth agape. “They do not!”

“That’s because you’re high on sugar all the time, so you can’t tell the difference.”

“I’ll buy both flavors and make  _ you _ try it then,” decides Hinata petulantly, his lower lip jutting out. “See how you’ll talk after that.”

Oikawa has to stifle a laugh at the change in Hinata’s mood, watching them banter as you go along the sidewalk, colorful paper streamers flying by you with loud music blaring across the streets. It’s really a lovely spring day, the tides of the school term ending washing over you. You let him wrap his arms around you, leaning over as you walk over to the line — or more like waddle. The weird looks thrown your way don’t dissuade you at all, relaxing into him as you talk about your plans for after your senior year of university ends, pursuing other plans.

You’re the one holding the cone of cotton candy for Oikawa as you go around the festival, talking and talking. In the background, Kageyama admits that the two cotton candy flavors that Hinata has bought  _ do _ taste different, but you’re pretty sure that he’s saying it just to appease his other half. You yourself honestly can’t distinguish flavors after all this time either. Carrying on, you let Oikawa feed you wisps of the cloud-shaped confection. It’s a cotton candy pink, made of sugary fluffiness, and it bleeds into your mouth, saturated in nostalgic sweetness. 

“We should get some takoyaki and taiyaki,” you muse, spotting the food stalls along the way. “I haven’t eaten takoyaki in the longest time.”

“Lead the way,” Oikawa says grandly as you slip out your wallet, knowing you’re eager to fill your stomach with food for the night. You have your phone out to take pictures to brag to Issei and make him regret not feeding you earlier out of pure pettiness, even though it’d mean that you wouldn’t be able to eat right now. “Whatever you eat, I’ll eat.”

“Even  _ nattou?” _ you offer, testing him with a glint in your eyes.

“Don’t even suggest that if you don’t like it yourself,” he defends, making a face at the sound of fermented soybeans, and you chortle at the expression he wears.

As late afternoon dwindles into evening, dinner comes from eating at different stalls, the rich flavors of Japanese dishes satisfying your palate. The festival continues bustling, still at large. You’ve won yourself some goldfish from goldfish scooping stalls, which pleasantly surprise you, seeing how easily the nets tend to rip, being made out of paper. When you rest on the curb, conversing among yourselves, Kageyama has an idea of how to spend the rest of the night at the festival, pointing out the river cruise drifting by you.

“Might as well appreciate the cherry blossoms at night,” he notes quietly, a flush of shyness on his face with the whole group’s attention on him.

(It’s startling but refreshing to see a new side to him, watching him stumble around like this nervously.)

Stepping onto the boat, the cherry blossom trees mesmerize you, streaks of pink reflected upon the river. The clarity of the water is stunning, and you pull yourself against the railing of the boat for a better look, taking pictures just to preserve this memory. Hinata and Kageyama are on the other side of the boat, off in their own world. The lights of the festival play against your faces like stained glass, ebbing and flowing as they come. Underneath you, the crackling of the river plays as the background music.

You’re about to ask Oikawa to help you take a picture of yourself before he interrupts your thoughts with a thought of his own.

“Did you have any regrets about our relationship?” Oikawa ponders carefully, lifting an eyebrow and facing you. 

Glancing at Oikawa, his face seemingly glows underneath this night setting, pensiveness drawn over his expression. In this very moment, it’s strangely serene, the quietness of night settling down into your nerves. You don’t know what has come upon him, but knowing him, he’s being serious.

You exhale, letting out a harsh sigh that makes your shoulders fall back as you stretch out your muscles, letting tension unroll from your back. He stares expectantly at you, waiting for your answer.

“No,” you confess, almost allowing the night to drown out your voice. There’s something about this timing, this darkness, that makes it easier to be honest with yourself and him. “I loved you a lot. Our relationship wasn’t a mistake, but I’m not sure if we would have worked out in the end, considering the reason why we broke up.”

Silence meets your answer, and you know he had been anticipating your answer — for the answer  _ yes _ . All at the same time, you know that you shouldn’t let your feelings toward the past get the better of you,  _ consume _ you in its entirety. You’ve kept your feelings at bay for the entirety of this month, allowing yourself to survive for so long like this. When he asks this kind of question, your emotions bubble up, rising with unadulterated hope. 

“And  _ we _ of all people are facilitating this match?” he teases, although not unkindly, and it makes you smile at him. Weeks ago, you would have punched him and asked him to shut up for touching such a sensitive topic, but surprisingly, a question like this doesn’t make you turn cross and flare out your cheeks in rage. “How scandalous of us being exes to make this work.”

“Indeed,” you mull over it some more. “I was surprised that this match was able to work, especially with what happened before.”

He gets what you mean. To be fair, the beginning of this match seemed to fit that mindset, the two of you clashing in your awkwardness and perspective, tension not yet undone from before.

“I really thought I would spend the rest of my life with you,” he murmurs, his gaze hooded. “I didn’t expect that you would reject me that night when I proposed to you and suggested that we stop taking ambrosia.”

“I wasn’t ready to leave all of this.” Closing your eyes, you lean into him comfortably. “I wasn’t ready to leave…  _ everyone.” _

He knows what you’re talking about without needing to ask. After all, your own parents left you for mortality, abandoning you and disappearing without a trace. It was the idea that they treasured themselves over you. The beginning of your childhood was marked by loneliness until Issei’s parents took you in, giving you the home that you so desperately needed. You wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of leaving your loved ones behind as your parents did, and that particular night, Oikawa’s expectations fell upon you like a burden. 

It’s not that you care for immortality; you care about the people that would watch you die before them, the people that  _ loved _ you and you back to them. It wouldn’t be fair to them to suffer like that. That’s the complete curse of immortality, having far too much time on your hands than what you know what to do with. 

“I’m sorry for doing that to you,” he says softly into your ear with a shaky breath, “making demands of you like that.”

_ “If you love me, why don’t you want to be with me?”  _ Your memory echoes back from the past. _ “Why don’t you want to be mortal with me and give ourselves to each other?” _

This moment’s cathartic, finally giving into unspoken thoughts and desires since the breakup. It’s when he says this, you realize the reason why he chose to do this mission, despite the fragments of hurt left from your breakup.  _ He did it for you because he knew what would happen if you two didn’t do this mission. _ Despite the seriousness of the moment, you turn into his frame, a smile lacing your lips.

“Don’t be, you did it because you loved me. I was being selfish, and so were you,” you say, not even mincing your words. You don’t want to play the blame game because you know you can go around in circles with it. In the end, the past remains unchanged. “We forgot each other while we remembered ourselves first.”

Your use of past tense does not go unnoticed. Oikawa’s mouth trembles, and he sucks in another breath, dropping another bomb on you.

“What would you do if I said I’m in love with you again?” 

Your heart stumbles, stuttering in its rhythm. “Excuse me? I’m not following.”

“I love you,” he says once more, not missing a beat. His lips no longer tremble as he speaks, his words plunging into your heart like an arrow — like one of those mythological arrows that humans speak of. “I’ll wait for you as long as it takes, ambrosia or not. That’s my only regret about the breakup, forgetting you when I shouldn’t have.”

Your heart falls out of your mouth. It’s bleeding profusely, gushing, gushing, and  _ gushing. _ The arteries and veins are splayed out, disconnected from your mind, your own common sense, and all you can hear is  _ your heart speaking to you. _ You can’t believe yourself. Even after these decades of being apart, he’s the one who moves you and makes you feel this way. Oikawa makes you fall apart in all the right ways in his very own way. Technically, you should say  _ no _ because the warning sign’s there, reminding you of what happened  _ last time. _

This time is not like last time, and the two of you have changed and have seen your way of error. You don’t say “I love you back” because you aren’t ready for that step, still taking your baby steps in your feelings toward him. He knows it, accepting the fact as you hold each other’s stare. However, you’re certain of one thing.  _ You want him back just as much as he wants you. _

Your hands find his face, memorizing the shape of this moment.

His lips taste the same as before, perhaps even sweeter, thanks to the cherry blossoms and cotton candy.

.

.

.

“You’re really cliché, you know — confessing at the cherry blossom festival? What kind of shoujo anime are we in?” you ponder when you get out of the boat, slipping your hand into his.

“Shut up, or I’ll take it back,” he says without any heat, and you exchange smiles, the night complete.

**Author's Note:**

> HULLO HULLO <3 i hope you enjoyed this work as much as i did writing it <3 this was definitely a blast to write, especially considering the fact that this is the longest one-shot i've ever written in my entire life. feel free to let me know what you think of it :3 because it'd be really nice to hear from you !!! if you ever want to shout @ me or keep up with my updates and shitposts <3 please shout @ me my tumblr @dimplesum!


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